


Sharper than a Serpent's Tooth

by gypsydancergirl (hauntedlittledoll)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode: s06e11 Appointment in Samarra, Gen, Kid Fic, Shakespeare is My Second Language
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-12-29
Updated: 2011-06-04
Packaged: 2017-11-14 01:52:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/510043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hauntedlittledoll/pseuds/gypsydancergirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There were longterm consequences of Season 5 and the forgotten year.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sharper than a Serpent's Tooth

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Shakespeare's "King Lear."
> 
> Deviates from Supernatural canon post 6.10 - "Caged Heat."

Sam stared at Dean. If Bobby was staging an intervention . . .

“About time, ya idjits. Get in here now,” the hunter ordered.

Sam found himself shuffled in front of everyone else somehow, and let himself be pushed into Bobby’s living room—which had faced a drastic rearrangement. The floor was completely bare, and everything that had been there was now hastily piled up on the chairs, desk, and shelves.

The reason?

A very small toddler in a pastel blue sleeper sat in the middle of the floor with a pile of blocks. Rumsfield the Second was watching warily from behind the sofa, and occasionally the baby lobbed a block in the dog’s direction.

Lack of aim and force protected Rumsfield, but Bobby growled from behind Sam. “Now what did I say about throwin’ the darn things?!”

The baby whipped around, and a smile broke out across his face as he caught sight of the three hunter pile-up in the doorway. “Dada!”

“Something you want to tell us, Bobby?”

“He ain’t mine, I can tell ya that much, Dean Winchester. And I ain’t a babysitter, you two!”

* * *

“Wait a minute,” Dean grimaced, dragging a hand down his face. “Start over.”

All three hunters stood around the rug, looking down at the toddler. The little boy stretched upward, holding his arms out to Sam, but the younger Winchester just watched the baby blankly.

Dean wondered if Sam could be in shock. Shock was a classified medical condition as well as an emotion. It was possible.

“I’m saying some floozy waltzed up my front steps and asked if I had a nephew named Sam,” Bobby growled. “And when I said yes, she dumped a baby in my arms and told me that she had a new man who didn’t like brats none.”

“You’re sure the kid’s mine?” Sam asked calmly. Too calmly.

“Dada!” The toddler made a fist and hit Sam in the shin hard. “Up, Dada! Up!” he repeated imperiously, reaching again.

“Yer angel wasn’t exactly much help in convincin’ her to stay,” Bobby glared. “Get in here, Feathers! And don’t forget to walk!”

Dean and Sam shared confused looks.

Castiel entered from the kitchen—sans trenchcoat, suit jacket, and tie. His shirtsleeves were rolled up and he held a bottle in one hand. “Yes, Bobby?”

The baby began to cry, still yanking on Sam’s pant leg even as he stared at Castiel.

“Give me the darn bottle,” Bobby waved impatiently, squatting to scoop the baby into one experienced arm. “And tell the boys what you told me.”

“Gabriel fell,” Castiel reported obediently, handing the bottle to Dean rather than approach the child himself.

The older hunter snatched it, casting a heavy look at the ceiling—obviously questioning the collective intelligence of Team Freewill. “Start at the beginning, wouldja?”

“That is the beginning,” Castiel reminded him seriously. “Lucifer cast him down, and now Gabriel has been reborn amongst humans.”

“And you brought him here?” Dean demanded.

“Pay attention, Dean. I did not bring him here. His mother did.”

“Why would some total stranger bring her baby to us?!”

“Because she recognized her child’s father, and Annie Fisher never wanted to be a mother,” Castiel explained, frustration just beginning to edge into his voice. The toddler began to shriek, rejecting the bottle and hiding his face in Bobby’s beard. “Sam engaged in carnal relations with the woman twenty-one months ago. Nathan will be a year old on December 19th.”

“Nathan?”

“Nathan Gabriel Fisher is the human name bestowed upon the child . . .” Castiel ducked his head. “And I must confess to . . .encouraging . . . her choice.”

“You’re sure the kid is mine?” Sam repeated.

“Yes, Sam.”

“Then it’s a Winchester, I guess,” Sam stared at the baby. “So what do we do with it now?”

“Sam can’t have a kid!” Dean squawked. “Look at him, Cas!”

Both Sam and Castiel turned to look at him with identical expressions of annoyance. The baby reached for Sam again, and this time grabbed at Sam’s nose. “Dada!”

Sam caught the tiny hand in his, and Dean froze. Sam just stood there, the baby’s hand captured in his gigantic one, and looked at the baby. “Daddy,” he corrected.

Nathan scowled briefly and kicked his legs, squirming in Bobby’s grip as he reached for Sam again. “Da-dee!” he howled. “Ba!”

“He seems to have retained considerably more of his angelic nature than most of the fallen,” Castiel commented. “I would not have thought him capable of recognizing your soulless state or a satisfactory comprehension of Ancient Egyptian.”

“The soul capable of leaving flesh behind,” Sam nodded. “It doesn’t seem to—”

“Idjits,” Bobby growled, shoving Nathan into Sam’s arms. “He wants the darn bottle.”

Sam blinked, and offered the bottle to the toddler awkwardly. Nathan grabbed it, shoved it in his mouth, and leaned back against Sam with boneless abandon.

The four grown men stared down at him.

Nathan smiled widely around the bottle.

“Ta!"


	2. Saucily into the World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A small collection of scenes that take place between 6.10 - "Caged Heat" and 6.11 - "Appointment in Samarra." Sam persists in the logical course of fatherhood despite opposition on all sides.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title taken from Shakespeare's "King Lear."

The baby was crying again, and Dean was cursing at the kitchenette.  Sam glanced up from the computer screen.  Dean had Nathan in one arm as he fumbled with the bottle.

“C’mon, Gabe, just give me a second,” Dean scolded.

“His name is Nathan.”

Dean paused to fix Sam with a measuring look—the one that grew exponentially more annoying every time Dean used it.

“Sam, Gabriel isn’t really your kid.  It’s an archangel in a very small, very volatile package.  He isn’t going to stay cute and manageable forever.  You can’t keep it as a pet.”

Sam felt his brow furrow as he worked his way through Dean’s lecture.  It was an annoying automatic response.

“He is my kid,” Sam finally decided.  “And his name is Nathan.”

Dean opened his mouth to argue, but Nathan’s sobs surpassed the “hungry” noise level and reached the decibel that could only mark an “incoming angel.”

“Dean.  Sam.”

Nathan howled, and began yanking on Dean’s ears in an attempt to scale the hunter and get even that little bit further away from Castiel.  The fallen angel did not like contact with his own kind, and made this well-known every time Castiel dropped in.

“Nathan, please be quiet,” Castiel fixed the toddler with an even blue stare, and Nathan’s cries cut off with a hiccup.  “Thank you.”

“Sam, come take him,” Dean grimaced, trying to screw the top on the bottle one-handed.

“You’ve got him,” Sam waved dismissively.  This hunt was looking more and more like a witch.

“You want to keep him, you get to take care of him,” Dean shot back, dumping Nathan in Sam’s lap and confiscating the computer.  Nathan clutched at Sam’s flannel shirt without letting go of his long-awaited bottle, and Sam wrinkled his nose.

“You had it.”

“I did not have it,” his brother muttered.  “I was seconds away from being permanently deafened and covered in formula.”  Dean dragged one hand over his face tiredly, and glanced over his shoulder at Castiel.  “Just keep an eye on him while I talk with Cas.”

Sam generously refrained from pointing out that Dean could hold Nathan and talk with Cas at the same time.  He thought it deserved some sort of reward personally.

Once they were alone, Nathan relaxed and leaned back against Sam’s chest.  “Da-dee,” he mumbled around the bottle.  “Da-dee.”

Sam shifted his son to a more comfortable position, and reached for the TV remote.

* * *

Sam quietly lifted Nathan out of his car-seat.  The baby shifted sleepily, clutching at Sam’s jacket reflexively before burying his sticky face in the crook of Sam’s neck.

Sam coughed, but the kid didn’t take the hint.  It was with barely-concealed annoyance that he carried Nathan into the diner as his brother snickered.

Once inside, Nathan lifted his head to investigate his surroundings.  The waitress immediately beamed.

“What a cutie!” she cooed.  “You going on a trip, sweetheart?”

Nathan gave a very small smile and shyly hid his face in Sam’s neck again.  Sam lamented Dean’s habit of stuffing the kid with sugar every time Sam’s back was turned.

“Nate’s shy,” Dean grinned big.  “Like father, like son, eh, Sammy?  I’m the awesome uncle,” he said by way of introduction.  “You can call me Dean.”

“Dee-dee,” came the very soft authoritative declaration from the vicinity of Sam’s shoulder.  “Dee-dee.”

The waitress swooned.

Dean turned a shade of red previously unknown to mankind.

Sam frowned.  “Uncle Dean,” he pronounced carefully.

“Dee-dee,” Nathan repeated, and squirmed to be put down.  Sam tightened his grip around the toddler’s middle.

“Isn’t he just the cutest thing you ever saw?” the waitress gushed, and Dean hastily agreed with her.

Sam took advantage of the distraction to settle Nathan into the high-chair and crouched to engage in a staring contest with his son.  “Dean.”

Nathan’s bottom lip jutted out.  “Dee-dee.”

“Dean,” Sam repeated.  “There’s an ‘n’ sound at the end, and I know you can use it.  You say ‘no’ often enough.”

“No!” Nathan promptly howled as if on cue.  “Da-dee, no!  Dee-dee!”

“Sam,” Dean growled, sliding into the other half of the booth.  “Just let him call me that.  You’re attracting attention.”

“Baby talk is detrimental to development.”

“Baby talk is what babies do.”

“Out!” Nathan suddenly demanded, having only just realized that he was restrained.  “Da-dee, out!”  He stretched across the table, reaching for Sam.  Sam ignored him.  “Da-dee!” Nathan repeated, trying to stand up while hampered by the belt.  He sat down hard on his little diapered butt, and tears started to fill Nathan’s eyes as the toddler turned to Dean.  “Dee-dee?”

Dean shifted, and Sam shook his head.  “Don’t even think about it.”

“C’mon, Sam.  He’s never been in a high chair before.”

“It won’t hurt him.”

Dean stared at him for a long moment, and then deliberately freed Nathan from the high chair.  Nathan squealed in delight, and tugged on Dean’s jacket.

Sam frowned.  “I said no, Dean.  He’s my son.”

“And that’s just not good enough, Sammy.”

* * *

Sam had tried leaving the toddler with Bobby (“Bee-bee!”) while he contacted Balthazar.  It didn’t work.  Sam could hear his son screaming from the house the moment the angel touched down.

He didn’t give Balthazar a chance to speak; thanks to Nathan, the angelic early alarm system, Sam didn’t have time.  “They’ll be out here any second, so let me make this fast.  I don’t want my soul back.”

Balthazar swallowed whatever retort he’d had prepared.  “You can’t afford the cost.”

“Try me.”

The crying was coming closer, and then Balthazar leaned into his face.  “Listen up, Sam.  That’s still my brother.  So suck it up, and take what yours is giving you.”

“Or what?”

“Or we’ll take our brother back.”

Then Balthazar was gone, and Bobby was there with Nathan.  Sam wordlessly accepted his son, and shifted him automatically to one shoulder.

“He’s gone.”

“Good riddance,” Bobby huffed and headed back into the house.

Sam thought long and hard that afternoon about what Balthazar had said.  Nathan continued to sniffle wetly into his collar for hours; the distress from an angel’s presence lingered long after the angel had left.

Sam didn’t want his soul back.  He didn’t want to be a ruin of what he once was.

No one seemed to think that he could raise Nathan without it.


End file.
